


Give Me Your Hand

by takahoe



Category: Kamen Rider Fourze
Genre: M/M, pitch hitting for the krssexchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takahoe/pseuds/takahoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re my best friend.”<br/>“Date me.”<br/>The two sentences come out at the exact same time, both Gentarou and Kengo cracking up like the time Ryusei face planted getting out of his own car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Your Hand

Signs are plastered all over the school walls as far as the eye can see. Most cover one another, overlapping on the edges, and Kengo is pretty sure that Miu’s posters from last year are underneath all of the new ones, tattered but still surviving.

The flimsy posters varying from horrible neon colors to delicate pastel colors lead straight all say the same old catch phrase – VOTE ME FOR PROM QUEEN – and Kengo feels his curry rice from earlier start to come back up. “So cliché,” he mutters to himself, taking a slight left turn into his next classroom.

It’s their last year in high school and these last few months are supposed to be remembered happily, not spent fighting over some stupid plastic crown from the store down the street. _Most people didn’t have a life or death experience last year,_ Kengo begs himself to remember as he tries to calm down for the fifth time today.

There has been three weeks since the campaigning for Prom King and Queen began and the tickets have been on sale for two. Kengo keeps lying to himself saying that _Prom_ is the reason that he’d been snippier with Ryusei on their Tuesday afternoon study session or that _Prom_ is the reason he turned down Yuuki for breakfast last weekend. But it’s so much more than that. He thought they were on the same page, him and Gentarou that is.

Vaguely discussing what they are isn’t enough for Kengo. Brushing hands when they go out on the weekends or having tension so thick you can cut it with a knife when they’re alone isn’t enough for Kengo. He never thought there’d be a day when he was going to be the pushy one but he’s waited long enough. _Maybe you should just ask him to Prom,_ Kengo’s inner voice provides. “Yeah, and be laughed at for the next three months, no thanks,” he grumbles out of the side of his mouth.

“Be laughed at for what?” Yuuki asks, bounding up to Kengo’s left side and peering down at him. _When had she gotten so tall?_

“Nothing, Yuuki.”

Yuuki sits down at her desk next to his as they wait for class to start. “So…”

“What is it?” Kengo turns to look at her, left hand resting under his chin.

“When are you going to ask Gen-chan to Prom?” Yuuki’s smile is as big as her voice is loud and Kengo panics.

His elbow slips off the desk causing his chin to hit the top of the desk and his teeth clatter. “Shit!”

“Are you okay? Kengo?” When Yuuki begins to panic it will all be over so Kengo does what he does best and places a finger to her lips, silencing her for the time being at least.

“I’m fine,” he replies, “and I’m not going to.”

“Not going to…Why?” Looking dismayed, Yuuki faces forward in her desk and resigns herself to no answer when Kengo doesn’t reply within the first minute of her asking.

Just as Kengo is about to answer that he’s _terrified of rejection_ like a first grader, Gentarou narrowly misses the door being slammed in his face and makes his way to his seat on the other side of Kengo.

Normally Gentarou begins rambling about his morning, usually things like how great science class is and how they got to blow up some shit, before asking Kengo or Yuuki any questions but today is different. He stops in front of Kengo’s desk, looking down at him as if he’s the only one in the room. It takes Kengo a second to realize that Gentarou’s hair is not in that ridiculously offensive pompadour it normally is, _ridiculously endearing is what it is,_ and his shirt is tucked in and he looks straight out of boys’ fashion magazine.

Kengo’s mouth goes so dry he can physically feel the weight of the tongue in his mouth and begins to await the inevitable but all Gentarou does is hand him an envelope. He looks like he’s about to open his mouth to say something but the substitute teacher ushers Gentarou to take his seat, throwing Kengo straight back into reality.

“Can I open it?” Kengo mouths when Gentarou finally looks back at him.

Gentarou nods and Kengo attempts to calm his shaking fingers enough to open the starch white envelope. Doing his best not to tear it loudly, Kengo pulls out what looks like a calling card for a wedding but that’d be insane. _About as insane as Gentarou wearing his school uniform and not putting globs of wax in his hair._ Kengo really wishes his mind had an off switch. Being human is certainly not worth the perks that come with it.

The rectangular card stock offers nothing strange just beautiful handwriting that is clearly not Gentarou’s and it reads: **Saturday, my house. Wear something nice.**

Kengo’s brain starts running a mile a minute, tallying up everything that’s happened over the last month and a half and what this could possibly mean. Prom isn’t for two weeks so why would Kengo be coming over this weekend? Maybe it’s just…dinner? Kengo’s been over for dinner before…that wouldn’t be strange. _But the dressing up…and the envelope…couldn’t Gentarou do anything normally?_

\--

Saturday rolls around and Kengo’s calendar has six red X’s on it. This is the first time Kengo has ever counted down to something and he’s beyond embarrassed. Black slacks, a pressed white shirt – courtesy of Yuuki’s delicate touch – a black bow tie and his hair truly styled for the first time in his whole life, Kengo almost feels like a true catch. He likes to think his mother would be proud of him. _If he had one._

Shaking off the negative thoughts that plague him due to the sheer amount of nerves, Kengo waits for Yuuki to pick him up. The car ride over to Gentarou’s is rather silent as most of it consists of Yuuki playing her favorite songs on the radio and Kengo trying not to pick at the skin around his nails.

“We’re here,” Yuuki’s voice pulls Kengo out of his trance. _Imagining Gentarou’s lips on his neck—_ Kengo swats the air in front of him, desperately trying to clear his head and bracing himself for whatever is about to come.

Kengo does his best to stride up to the front door with confidence before rapping three times on the wooden frame. He can hear the sweet clacking sound of footsteps approaching the door from inside the house and then he’s met with the most beautiful scene he’s ever seen.

Navy blue slacks instead of Kengo’s black and a black shirt and skinny white tie, Kengo unconsciously licks his lips at how well Gentarou cleans up. _Truly beyond any of his expectations._ Gentarou ushers Kengo into the house and closes the door behind him, the loud sound knocking Kengo back into reality once again. Sounds seem to have that effect on him.

“Gentarou, what is all this?” The question felt like Kengo finally cutting through the tension that’s been surrounding them since last year.

Gentarou turns around, extending his hand to Kengo, “Give me your hand.”

Placing his hand in Gentarou’s, Kengo feels himself being twirled toward Gentarou’s figure at an alarming speed. Pulled close to Gentarou’s chest, Kengo’s hand is placed on Gentarou’s shoulder for him. Gentarou places his other hand on Kengo’s waist, following suit, and begins to pull him across the floor, not even bothering to remove their shoes.

“Shouldn’t we take off our shoes?” Kengo asks, looking back over his shoulder at the entry way to Gentarou’s house.

“My parents aren’t home,” Gentarou says, “they’ll be back on Monday.”

They fall into a simple four-step waltz, a dance Kengo didn’t know Gentarou even knew. “Just dance with me.”

Kengo is beyond confused and pulls himself back from Gentarou’s grip, “What are you doing? What is going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious? This is our Prom.”

It hits Kengo like a freight train. The school uniform. The letter. The dressing up tonight. The dancing. _What a loser, oh my god._

“You could have just asked me to Prom,” Kengo says, looking up at Gentarou’s stare, deer in head lights-esque.

“I didn’t want anyone to cause a commotion, two guys going together and all.” Kengo is pulled back into the waltz, closer together than before, Kengo allowing himself to put his head on Gentarou’s chest.

“I’ll have to thank Yuuki, huh?”

Gentarou looks down at Kengo, vaguely confused. “There’s no way you wrote that calling card by yourself, your handwriting is abhorrent.”

“Shut up,” Gentarou sulks, pulling away from Kengo.

Kengo grabs Gentarou by the back of his head and stands on his tiptoes just enough to reach evenly, pushing his lips to Gentarou’s firmly. Gentarou’s lips part slowly, matching pace with Kengo’s, both of them feeling warm all over. After several seconds they pull apart, staring at each as if they’d just seen a lunar eclipse.

“You’re my best friend.”

“Date me.”

The two sentences come out at the exact same time, both Gentarou and Kengo cracking up like the time Ryusei face planted getting out of his own car.

“Of course I’ll date you, Kengo,” Gentarou offers the sweetest smile Kengo has ever seen.

“Thank god,” Kengo chuckles, “I was scared you didn’t like me anymore.”

“Are you joking? I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything,” Gentarou starts placing kisses on Kengo’s face and neck, “I’ll love you until the end of time.”

“Well, good,” Kengo smiles fervently, “I’m not planning on getting a new best friend any time soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> i take commissions/requests on tumblr @ zyuohking.tumblr.com!  
> or just come talk to me abt toku!


End file.
